


You Deserve To Be Happy

by breathe_without_lungs



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Campfire stories, Found Family, Gen, Glade-stories, Healing, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, Major Spoilers, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-The Death Cure, References to Depression, The Death Cure, The Death Cure Spoilers, The Glade, angsty, as per usual, brenda is awesome, coping with shit, gally's being nice, gally's moonshine, i needed to stitch the newt-shaped hole in my heart, out of tags, sharing stories, tdc, thomas pov, thomas's being called tommy, tmr - Freeform, tst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:46:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26356702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breathe_without_lungs/pseuds/breathe_without_lungs
Summary: Thomas tries his hardest to honour his best friend's wishes, but reminders of his loss are stacked in every nook and cranny. Simple words push him over the edge and being happy seems too far off to ever be accomplished.“He…” Thomas struggled to catch his breath. “He called me Tommy.”angsty one-shot i wrote quite some time ago
Kudos: 22





	You Deserve To Be Happy

The contours of the trees that lined the horizon finally regained shape under the guidance of the first sun rays. In the dead of the night, the huts, tents and trees had blotched together with the sky to assemble ill-proportioned shadows that made Thomas’s heartbeats rise to feverish heights. 

The hammock wobbled as he swung his legs over the edge to find solid ground, then prodeecing to stumble his way out of the shack. He steadied himself again against the stripped bark of the pole and counted his breaths until they were no longer sporadic spasms quaking through his chest. 

“Beautiful, huh?” Minho said when he noticed Thomas’ gaze on the horizon. His face finally started to lose the last traces of WCKD's experiment. The light in his eyes has returned in full force and the ghostly white sheen on his cheeks had fled to be replaced by sun-washed skin. 

Thomas didn’t share the sentiment. “It’s too alike.” He muttered. 

Minho sighed. “But it will never be the same.” There was one thing that still seemed in WCKD’s possession; the fire that always spiked in his friend’s voice, the kind that used to deliver his characteristic snarky comments like a ringing machine gun. Or perhaps it wasn’t WCKD that withheld it. 

They watched as the sun climbed higher and higher and other immunes starting to appear from their tents. A couple people Thomas had befriended during the course of the first few weeks greeted them as they strolled by. 

“You’re hungry?” Minho, who was still by his side, jerked his chin over to where Frypan was preparing what seemed to be a thick soup. Just when Thomas was about to say no, hunger hit him like a punch in the gut. 

“Yeah, sure.” He ignored the relieved look his friend shot him and allowed himself to be steered away from the shack. 

Frypan is a flurry of movement as he reigns 'his realm'. “Saved something for you, shanks.” He rumbles while whipping up what seems to be a thick soup, before granting it his approval and thrusting the bowl to Thomas, clearly with Thomas' previous refusal still at the back of his mind.

Thomas brought it to his lips, avoiding the chipped edges. It tasted like wet ashes in his mouth, something frequent when it came to food, but it was better than nothing. He smiled and nodded at Fry before wiping his mouth.

Minho towed him off the the fields not long afterwards. Being one of the first things to set its roots down on the island, it became larger day by day.

Soon, it will be bigger than the gardens in the Glade. 

That was like another punch in the gut. Thomas staggered on his feet. The only thing that kept him from spiraling down to the ground was the smooth weight of the necklace, gently rolling over his skin like the fathom trace of fingers. It was all he had. When his heart was squelched by grief, his hands found the necklace and reminding him of his friend's wishes. You deserve to be happy. 

“Are you okay?” Minho’s face swam into focus. Thomas managed to respond with a shaky nod. 

“Yeah, don’t worry ‘bout me.” He was glad that his voice didn’t crack. To strengthen his reassurance, Thomas nodded at a shovel and set himself to work. 

The day glided by, like a boat on the peaceful water. Large campfires were howling their scorching anguish to the night sky as people gathered around them. Thomas watched as the workers started to leave the fields, collecting the shovels in various bins of all shapes and sizes that stood near the entrances. 

One of the boys who had worked alongside him walked past him. Upon noting that Thomas was still rooted in the same spot, he freed himself from the group. 

“We’re roundin’ up, Tommy.” 

Tommy. The moment he closed his eyes, he was back in the maze-like realms of his mind. Where memories piled up on top of memories to create the walls and ivy sealing them away from focus. Now they were moving, and the ivy was tearing like wet paper. 

Tommy

“Don’t!” Thomas lurched forward to grab the boy’s shirt, nearly lifting him off his feet. “Don’t,” he repeated. “Don’t ever call me that, only he could!” 

Thomas felt himself being janked away by someone. Other people entered from the side of his blurred vision, crowding him and the other boy. While blinking, he lowered his eyes to the ground. A hand clamped around his shoulder for the second time this day. 

“Allright, slim it everyone.” Minho’s voice topped that of the other’s as he stood besides Thomas, with his hand still on his back. The murmur remained among the immunes as their gaze drifted from Thomas to the shell-shocked boy, whose eyes already harboured a faint understanding. 

“Okay.” Minho muttered once the crowd had settled down. Thomas could feel his friend’s gaze tracing the edges of his face. “Thomas, what happened, man?” 

“He…” Thomas struggled to catch his breath. “He called me Tommy.” 

“He… what?” Minho blinked stupidly. Like… Like he has forgotten who’d always say that.  
“Thomas! Where are you-” 

Thomas had already turned around, shrugging his way through the crowd, ignoring Minho’s calls. The blurry remnants of unshed tears dotted his vision as he stumbled down the path. The soft earth underneath his feet turned into the fine sand of the beach. Large waves were smashed against the sides of the ship while others reached the shore, dumping their foamy residue in the sand before retreating again. 

He pursued his trek along the beach. Looking back over his shoulder, he could see the smoke of fire trying to reach for the moon until they were shattered and dispersed by the wind. The sound of laughter was drowned out by that of the waves as Thomas neared a large rock formation. Amidst the asymmetrical blocks of grey sat a black, rounded stone with a name notched into it. Upon coming closer you could see delicate leaves carved underneath the name. 

Thomas didn’t know when he stopped visiting Newt, but now that he was here, it felt like coming home to an empty house. He sank to his knees while soft sobs wretched themselves past his lips.

Instead of saying something to the boy sleeping beneath the stone, Thomas settled on shifting the sand through his fingers, gathering the grains in small piles besides the grave. Thomas watched the tide change. 

“Thought you’d be here.” Minho took his place next to Thomas.

“Sorry, I just… I just lost my shit when-” 

Minho cut him off. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. Clyde’s not mad.” 

Absence of either of their voices left the silence to be filled by the sound of waves and screams of seagulls. 

“Is this a closed meeting or can we join?” Brenda’s voice filled the silence. She, Gally and Frypan were standing behind them, holding a bottle of what seemed to be the drink Gally used to make back in the Glade. 

As an answer, Thomas scooted to one side to make room and together they formed a semi circle around Newt’s grave. The silence was filled by the waves once more while they passed the bottle from hand to hand until it was empty. 

“Do you remember, Gally, when we snuck into Fry’s pantry to steal some jam and used it to dye Newt’s hair?” Minho suddenly asked. 

Between a couple snorts of laughter Gally managed to muster a nod. “H-he was mad.” 

“So it was you?” Frypan’s eyebrows climbed to his hairline while he swiftly coiled his arms around his stomach. Thomas could his own laughter bubbling from his lips. 

“Why did I never hear of this story?” 

Gally shrugged. “Newt can be pretty scary when spouting those curses like a fucking fountain.” The grumpy faced blond shuddered. 

“At least he got the jam out.” Fry muttered. 

“Not completely, though,” Thomas could feel a grin making its way on his face. “I remember when coming up in the box, Newt’s hair had this pink shine.” 

Each story or memory that came afterwards earned a round of loud laughter. Brenda, at some point, went back to the camp to get some more drinks and the laughter went on. 

You deserve to be happy. Maybe, just maybe, that wasn’t as far away as Thomas thought.

**Author's Note:**

> First off, thank you for reading my littl' drabble, hope you enjoyed. This was originally posted on my Tumblr, my username is breathe-without-lungs. 
> 
> 7 dec - Here's a thank you to everyone who left kudos!! Thank you so much, it really means a lot. Have a good one!!


End file.
